The American West
by FlamelsCross98
Summary: Short stories about the American West, written as history revision. Shots throughout the 1800s with Colonial!America, also featuring a bit of England and Canada. USUK
1. Plains Indians

**Okay, this seriously needs an explanation. I am taking GCSE History, and the last unit for the exam is the American West. So, I decided that as part of my revision (****urgh...) I would write stories about the topic.**

**Each chapter covers a different section, and I figured it would be more interesting to use Hetalia as my basis. If you happen to be taking GCSE History with the exam board AQA, this will include pretty much all the main facts you need to know for the exam.**

**Although this particular chapter is called 'Plains Indians', it covers the original settlement in North America, Native Indians, Mountain Men, and a bit about the first travellers west.**

**Enjoy!**

Plains Indians

_**20,000 years ago…**_

"Hey, has anyone _seen_ this?"

A young boy ran across the ice, laughing as he reached land. He wore thick clothes and snow boots, typical clothes of the ice age. His sandy blond hair was hidden under a fur-lined hood, but a cowlick stood out from the rest. He had bright blue eyes which sparkled as he smiled.

The instant he stepped on the land, he felt something. He _knew_ everything about it. He could feel the land for miles. There was an empty space, but then 3000miles of land with every biome and climate stretched out.

"Mattie!"

Another boy, similar save for his amethyst eyes, approached. Until he'd been called, it had seemed as though there was no one there. He was identical to the first boy, although instead of a cowlick, a curl of hair looped out from under his hood.

"What is it, Al?"

Finally, the group of people, adults and children, caught up with the two. Unlike the boys, they had darker skin and black hair. Some looked surprised at the sight of Mattie and Al, as though they hadn't seen them, or anyone like them, before.

As they stepped ashore, the first boy, Alfred, _felt_ them. Every movement, every breath.

And he knew that these people, who had braved the Bering Strait since India, were _his_ people. And the land they walked on was their land, and as a consequence, his land.

America.

_**1497**_

They were here. The Europeans.

They had landed in the East, and created states, thirteen of them. They gave them names, that were both foreign and yet _right_ to Alfred. Georgia, North and South Carolina, Delaware, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, Connecticut and more. With them were men, men who seemed familiar to Alfred. They were the same as him: countries. He had seen them as they landed, and as they commanded the settlers. There were two main ones, who always seemed to be fighting. A tall one with shoulder-length hair and eyes like his own, and a shorter one with messy blond hair and emerald eyes.

Alfred avoided them. He preferred to stay with the tribes on the plains, moving from camp to camp. The tribes, Indians the newcomers called them, were completely different. Unlike the Europeans, with their guns and wanton killing, the Indians hunted with arrows and axes, and were careful with what they killed.

Many a time, Alfred had joined the hunts; waiting low as the buffalo drew near, then killing the weak ones. He was always careful to avoid harming the overall herd. And once he brought the buffalo back to camp, he helped cook the meat and use the skin. Even the bones had uses, and nothing was wasted. But the Europeans would throw away everything but the meat.

Alfred sat by the fire in the center of camp, looking across the Plains. He could see the Appalachian Mountains, nature's barrier against the settlers. But he knew that they would cross them one day, despite the agreement with all the tribes of the Great Plains. And then they would bring their destructive and wasteful ways upon the rest of America. Maybe they'd even cross to Canada, where Mattie was.

Around Alfred, tepees of buffalo hide stood, decorated with circles. The circle of life. It was once Alfred's sole belief, that everything was a circle of life and death, summer and winter, the world. But now, he felt the beliefs of the settlers, their assurance in someone called 'God', who was some supreme being. And the belief that they were destined, _chosen_, to take America for themselves. Alfred knew the land, and animals were sacred, and they shared the land with humans. But a part of him said that they were just animals, that the land was nothing special, that humans were all that mattered.

The conflicting beliefs scared Alfred, but he figured he could deal with it. As long as the Europeans stayed on their side of the mountain range, he could stay with his people, and live as he had always lived.

_**1842**_

Alfred liked him. Jim Bridger: the first of the settlers to accept the Indian way of life.

He had left the East to discover the Plains and beyond, like so many others before him. But the others relied on themselves, and their way of living. Bridger had spoken to the Indians, befriended them, and he had succeeded in crossing the Plains, and the Rocky Mountains, and the Cascade Mountains, to a place he called Oregon. He called the route the Oregon Trail, and since its discovery settlers had been trying to cross.

They called Bridger, and those like him, a Mountain Man, or a pioneer. They would set out to explore the West, and send stories of their adventures back to the Eastern states. They faced starvation and dehydration, the heat, the cold, and attacks from wild animals. The ones who remained stuck in their destructive ways were also attacked by tribes, although Alfred refused to join in. Like it or not, these were his people, and he would not help them kill each other.

Every summer, in July, Alfred would travel with them to a month-long carnival. There would be women, children and men – both settlers and Indians. And sometimes, he would see Mattie as well, with a group or two from Canada. The main event was the trade of pelts between Mountain Men and Easterners, but over the years people had added dances and music.

Alfred had noticed he was spending more time with these settlers from the East, and less time with his Native Indians. He had yet to approach the countries that were still in the East, although he had heard rumours that they were considering visiting the Plains.

_**1843**_

Alfred stood with his new big brother, Arthur. He called himself England, and called Alfred America. They were stood before a Prairie Schooner, working on the final design for the Great Migration.

Alfred had worked out that the journey would last around six months, from the Appalachians to Oregon and California. Therefore, Arthur had decided it was best for the groups to leave in spring, so they could avoid travelling in the harsh winters.

"Why is one wheel bigger than the other?" Alfred asked, tugging on Arthur's sleeve.

Arthur turned to look at him, smiling. "It means that the wagon will stay level when it goes up mountains."

Alfred smiled back, admiring his brother's ingenuity. They had constructed a train of wagons, around a hundred, in order for the first families of settlers to travel to the West. Each wagon was designed to act as both a tent and storage for the journey's supplies. The base was a tar sealed boat for it to float, and there were hooks on the side to carry chickens. There was another hook underneath for milk buckets, which would turn to butter from the shaking of the wagon. The tyres were iron, so they wouldn't puncture, and the cart had a shaft to attach to oxen to pull it. The wagons were a wonder of modern technology, and it seemed Arthur had thought of everything.

The group was to be led by a pilot, who would keep everyone on course for the journey. The pilot was also going to be the main financer – which Alfred decided was a smart move. After all, if he let anyone die, he couldn't collect his money from them.

"America," Arthur said. "I'll be needing to interview Mountain Men, see who will lead the pilot for this journey. Would you like to help?"

Alfred practically jumped with excitement. "Yeah!" He hadn't spoken to any Mountain Men since he'd met Arthur, and he was excited to see them again. In his opinion, they were true American heroes, forging the way for others. And if Alfred knew anything, it was that he wanted to be a hero.

Arthur reached for his hand, and together they left for the town, ready to meet the pioneers.


	2. The Gold Rush

The Gold Rush

_**January 1848**_

Alfred rested the wooden beam on his shoulder, turning to walk towards the construction site. Him and Arthur (or as the other kept correcting him, 'Arthur and he') had volunteered to help a man by the name of James Marshall in the building of a sawmill.

Arthur hadn't disclosed exactly what his reasoning was, but Alfred got the feeling that something big was to happen here. Something that would change the future of his country.

He handed the beam over to one of the professional builders, and sighed as the weight was lifted. He could see Arthur sawing wood a few metres away; the man wasn't nearly as strong as Alfred or the muscled builders.

Alfred decided to rest a moment in the warm sun. He could see Arthur sweating; apparently the place he was from, England, barely reached this heat in summer, let alone January.

There was a shout from over near the waterwheel. "Hey, everyone over here!"

Every single one of the workers dropped what they were doing and hurried over. Alfred could see Arthur straining to look over the heads of the men and grinned. Since they had met, the American had grown to be at least a few inches taller than the Brit, something that the other most definitely did _not_ appreciate.

It was never entirely clear who said it first, but there was a frantic whisper running around the men. Alfred leant forward to hear, and after a few seconds he caught it.

'Gold'.

_**March 1848**_

Arthur had decided to revisit to site where gold had been found. Since its discovery, papers across California and Oregon had been proclaiming the existence of large deposits of gold in the west.

Alfred had felt the excitement as everyone – poor, rich, teachers, students, employed and unemployed – dropped everything to head to the Sierra Nevada to dig. The once busy cities were emptying as more and more left. There were rumours beginning to head east, too, and Alfred wondered if the mountains could even hold that many people. Hopefully the dangerous journey would put people off.

The site itself was now home to a mining company known as 'Mormon Diggings'. But nearby were small towns of freelance miners. Men with no experience pitched up with a shovel and a pan, and set to work.

Alfred was attempting to pan for gold. He had filled his copper pan with silt and water, then spent about ten minutes sifting through it, waiting with baited breath for the gold to appear.

"Have you found anything?"

He jumped, the silt in his pan nearly falling out. "Oh, hey," he turned to Arthur. "Nothing yet. But I'm sure there's some here!"

Arthur looked over at his pan and smiled. "Are you sure there's nothing?"

Alfred turned back, sure Arthur was tricking him but not wanting to take the risk of not checking. And there, lying innocently in the edge of the silt, was a small nugget of gold.

It wasn't big. Three millimetres at most. But that didn't matter, because _he'd found it!_

It was suddenly clear why so many of the men here wouldn't go home: nothing could compare to the elation of finding gold.

Alfred looked at the metal in his palm and smiled wide. These would be prosperous times for his people. Nothing could go wrong.

_**January 1849**_

Alfred looked up as he heard the door close. Arthur was home!

Every now and again, Arthur had to leave on 'business'. He'd be gone for anywhere from a week or so to a few months. He never said exactly what he was doing, but Alfred had seen him boarding huge ships, and found pistols and knives in his desk drawer. Which obviously meant that his gentlemanly former guardian was secretly a pirate!

Arthur was carrying a newspaper, the _New York Daily Tribune_, under his arm. He threw it on the table in front of Alfred.

"Read that," he said, smiling. "I'm just going to make a cup of tea."

He disappeared into the kitchen and Alfred looked down at the paper. He felt his grin grow.

"Uh, Arthur..?"

"Mhmm?" came the reply from the next room.

Alfred glanced back at the paper. "Can we go back to California?"

Arthur walked back into the room with his tea in hand. Alfred realised that he didn't recognise the cup, and figured that the Brit had brought his own teacups all the way over from England.

"I need to check up on Australia and New Zealand for a few months. I'll be leaving in a week."

"But-"

"_But_, when I return we'll go to California."

Alfred jumped out of his seat. "_Yes_! Did you see what's been happening? People are making $1000 a _day_ over there! Everyone who wants money has been travelling to California – it's a state now! And one of the richest ones too!"

Arthur smiled at Alfred's enthusiasm, choosing to tune out the increasingly random statements. He thought about the people he'd seen on his way to the house; hundreds of beggars and homeless screaming about gold. Many of them had already left for the west, disregarding the dangers associated. They called it 'gold fever', where they couldn't so much as _think_ of anything other than the gold. Maybe if he satisfied Alfred's need now, there wouldn't be a problem later on.

Alfred, on the other hand, was ecstatic. In New York and the nearby states, people were only earning $1,50 a day. In California, as well as the tales of $1000/day, pretty much everyone earnt at least $3/day.

"Well that's settled. We'll head west when I return. Now, why don't you tell me what I've missed…"

_**August 1849**_

Alfred looked around, a look of horror on his face. They had arrived in California, expecting to stay at one of mining towns, like the one they'd visited last spring.

But on their arrival in San Francisco, they were told that all the good mining sites were full, and they'd have to stay somewhere else. So they had travelled through the wilderness of the Sierra Nevada to this town.

It was heaving with people. They rushed past him, all in a hurry but none appearing to have a destination. The town itself was full of bars, shady back alleys and women advertising themselves on street corners. Alfred felt almost ill just standing there, but it was nothing compared to how the miners looked. They walked as if they had lost their very souls.

"Um… Arthur?"

Strangely, the Brit didn't appear to share the feeling of horror Alfred felt. Then again, if France's (Alfred refused to call him 'Francis', no matter how many times the Frenchman invited him to) stories were true, England had seen this and worse plenty of times.

"I know, Alfred," he said. "We'll rent a room for the night, and we'll go back to San Francisco tomorrow."

He strode towards the nearest bar, his formal attire contrasting dramatically with the dusty assembly of tents and shacks that made up the town's residential area. His walking scuffed up some of the dust, and he sneezed.

They entered the bar, although Alfred couldn't see what was inside. The blinds were pulled down, and the lamps were more of a decoration. Even Arthur had to pause for a moment to regain his sight. When he did, he led Alfred over to what he assumed would be the bar. His vision was adapting, and he could now see the wisps of smoke that fragranced the air around them.

Arthur rapped on the wood of the bar top, grabbing the barkeep's attention from the glasses he was cleaning.

"Yeah?" he grunted, voice rough. Alfred fought not to shrink back from his tone.

"A room for two, for one night," Arthur replied, unperturbed.

The man looked between them for a moment. "You got the cash?"

"How much?"

"Ten dollars."

Alfred felt Arthur stiffen beside him, and he didn't blame him at all. Ten dollars was nearly seven times more than your average American earned in a day.

The barkeep seemed to notice their reaction. "That's for a twin room," he told them. "But if you're happy to double, I can lower it to… say, eight bucks?"

Arthur appeared to consider this. "Is this the rate for the rest of town?" he asked.

One of the patrons, who had apparently been listening in, answered. "Yeah. Old Bill 'ere 'as some of the cheapest rooms in town."

"Fine." Arthur sighed and put his hand in his pocket to bring out some money. "There. We'll take the double. Come on, Alfred."

"Room's that way," the barkeep grunted, throwing a key on the wood and pointing at the stairs by the bar before tuning back to his glasses.

Arthur nodded, taking the key, and the two walked up the stairs.

"Room 9… 6… 7… 8… Ah, here it is!" Arthur muttered as they walked down the stuffy corridor. He unlocked the door and pushed it open.

The third thing Alfred noticed was that the room smelled. It absolutely reeked of smoke and alcohol, and he nearly gagged.

The second thing was its size. He could probably touch all four walls without having to leave the bed. Which brings us to the first thing.

There was only one bed. And despite Arthur specifically taking the _double_, it looked awfully small for two people. Especially two people who had no intention of so much as _seeing_ each other during the night.

"Arthur… Are you sure this is the right room?"

Arthur looked a little flustered, as though he'd been expecting something else too. He glanced down at the key. "This is definitely our room…"

Alfred took another look. The bed looked too small to share, but there was nowhere near enough space on the floor for either of them. In fact, Alfred suspected that if he rolled out of bed at night, he'd end up wedged between it and the wall.

He considered going downstairs and demanding the twin room, but he knew they couldn't afford it, especially if they wanted to eat before leaving tomorrow.

"We should probably get some sleep," Alfred offered. Awkward as the arrangement was, he was sure he didn't want to be in a bar or on the streets at night. Just looking at the people living here, he was sure there'd be fights or they'd be mugged or something. If they were lucky.

Arthur seemed to feel the same, and he nodded. He turned away from Alfred, who realised what he was doing and followed suit.

Backs to each other, they stripped down to their underwear, and hastily dived under the safety of the covers. Alfred felt his face burn, and he faced away from Arthur, careful to take up as little space as possible, as far away from the other. He could sense the other was doing so too, but despite their efforts they were still only about a metre apart.

"Goodnight Alfred," he heard Arthur mutter.

"G'night Arthur."

The first thing Alfred was aware of was warmth. There was something radiating heat across his body, but for some reason only on one side. His eyes were heavy from his sleep, but he struggled to open them.

His memories of the previous day began to sort themselves out in his head. They were in the Sierra – that probably explained the warmth, but he was sure it was never _this_ hot. They had rented a room for the night. It had smelled horrible.

Alfred frowned at the last revelation. He couldn't smell anything horrible. In fact, there was a rather nice scent… Kinda like tea, but sweeter, and with some flowery shade to it. It reminded him of Arthur.

Arthur! There was something… He had to share a bed with Arthur last night!

Wait… That strange source of heat…

He looked down, and almost had a heart attack when he saw the sandy blonde hair beside him. Somehow, in the night, the two had rolled towards the middle of the bed, and he'd ended up with his arms wrapped around Arthur, who had his head rested on Alfred's chest.

Alfred froze, and debated what to do. The obvious answer would be to wake up Arthur, and then the two of them could put this behind them. But… that would make things really awkward between them, and Alfred didn't want that.

So, he'd get up, and pretend this never happened, and Arthur would never have to know.

It was easier said than done. Removing his arms was simple enough, but then came the challenge of extracting himself from underneath Arthur's head. He slid his hands underneath, and tried to gradually slide Arthur's head back onto the pillow.

"Nnn!" Arthur complained incoherently. "Don't wanna…"

After recovering from the shock of Arthur speaking, Alfred calmed enough to wonder. So, Arthur lost his handle on Standard English when he was half-asleep? Definitely blackmail material.

Free at last, Alfred proceeded to change into his clothes for the day, glancing back at Arthur every few minutes.

"Artie looks really cute when he's sleeping…" he mumbled to himself, before slamming a hand over his mouth. He did _not_ just say that.

"Alfred?"

Arthur had sat up, and was rubbing his eyes. Alfred held his breath for a moment, scared he'd been heard, but apparently Arthur was oblivious. All shyness forgotten in the early morning sleepiness, Arthur slid out of the bed, and over to his suitcase. Alfred turned his back as the other changed, although he got the impression that Arthur really didn't care at this point.

Once dressed, Arthur set off to find the bathrooms, Alfred trailing behind – he wasn't scared of being on his own around here, he just… wanted to make sure Arthur was ok. That was it.

After he had sprayed some water on his face, Arthur seemed far more awake. "We should at least take a look around the town before we head back," he looked at Alfred's expression. "Just for an hour, ok? No longer."

Alfred nodded reluctantly. He had a feeling that something really bad was going to happen, although what he couldn't say. He decided to just shrug it off as a consequence of being in the town.

They walked around, getting more depressed the more they saw.

"Arthur, can we go now?" Alfred asked after only half an hour of walking.

Arthur sighed. "Fine. You go and arrange for a coach for us, I just want to take a quick look down there." He pointed to an area next to a saloon.

Alfred bit his lip, his bad feeling increasing. But it was only about a hundred metres away, and it's not like Arthur would be gone long.

"Okay. I'll see you in a minute."

Alfred jogged over to the stagecoaches, and quickly managed to secure one for their journey back. "I'll just go grab my friend, and we can go," he told the driver, who nodded.

He walked over to the area Arthur had indicated earlier. As he drew closer, he heard voices.

"Damn foreigners, always trying to keep the best to themselves!"

"And British too! I thought we got rid of all you bastards!"

British? Alfred had a feeling he knew exactly who that was, and the lack of response worried him. He ran around the corner, only to momentarily freeze at the sight.

There was Arthur, and three men. One of which appeared to be unconscious and badly injured. The other two sported minor injuries, but nothing to cause damage. One of them had Arthur pinned against the brick wall by his throat, while the other held a knife. Arthur was scrabbling at the hand constricting his breathing, blood dripping from his lip and from and cut on his forehead.

Alfred was usually pretty slow on the uptake, but he processed the scene in a second, and evaluated it even faster. Arthur had obviously tried to defend himself – and done pretty well.

"Let him go." Alfred's voice was more serious than it had ever been before, and something in his tone warned his opponents.

"Or what?" the man holding Arthur asked, although he sounded nervous. He didn't relax his grip though.

Alfred thought for a second. What would he do if they continued to hurt Arthur? "Or I'll kill you," he replied, deadly serious.

The two men glanced at each other, and nodded. The one holding Arthur let go instantly, the Brit dropping to the floor gasping, and the two ran for it.

"Arthur!" Alfred rushed over. Arthur had managed to sit up, but was hunched over, gasping for breath repeatedly. "Are you okay?"

Arthur glared at him, and Alfred knew that if he could speak he'd say 'of course not, you bloody git!' For some reason that made him want to laugh.

"Come on. I'll help you to the coach, and you can recover there." Alfred wrapped an arm around the other's waist, helping him stand.

"I can… walk myself… bloody git…" Arthur wheezed, although he made no motion to do so.

They made their way to the waiting coach, and the driver didn't seem at all surprised to see the state Arthur was in.

"You run in to one of those vigilante groups, lad?"

Arthur nodded. "Said it was… cos I'm _British_… bloody wankers…"

The driver nodded sympathetically. "They're supposed to keep order, but they all hate foreigners. Be thankful you're not Chinese."

"What do they do to them?" Alfred asked curiously.

"Hang 'em mostly." He saw their expressions. "There's hundreds of 'em here, thrown out by the mining companies. Same with blacks. All the miners hate 'em 'cos they say they're stealin' all the good land. Hah!" he scoffed. "As if there's any good land 'round here!"

Alfred looked disgusted by his people's actions. He looked over at Arthur, but found that he'd fallen asleep in the back of the coach already. He smiled fondly, and settled down next to him, closing his eyes as the coach began to move.

**Note: According to AQA, in 1849 $1,50 was equal to £60 in modern England. Assuming this, the room was £400, which I believe is about $621 today. And the second room was £320 or $497. So yeah, real expensive.**


End file.
